Chapter 11

“Good morning, Ms. Lyra.”

A slender, red-haired woman stood in the doorway of my suite, her smile warm and genuine. She wore a tailored blue jumpsuit that hugged her figure in all the right places, and her copper curls caught the morning light. I blinked at her, bewildered. Who was this woman, and how did she know my name?

She stepped forward, closing the distance between us as I scanned the room. Everything was immaculate: the pale carpets lay undisturbed, the chaise longue by the window looked inviting, and a faint scent of jasmine drifted through the air. Yet I could not focus on any of it; my mind was whirling with questions.

“I’m Camille DeWitt—DeWitt’s Couture fashion designer,” she explained, her voice steady and friendly. “I’ll be helping you get ready for your marriage today.” She beamed at me, hands clasped politely in front of her.

Marriage? The word reverberated like a thunderclap in my brain. My pulse quickened. Had I really forgotten that today